Her Perfume
by JessiOnTheMoon
Summary: Burt followed him down the hall, slowly pushing open the door. Kurt was lying prone on his back, hand trailing lightly over the angles and curves of a broken dresser.


He thought they were prepared, thought they had worked out everything they'd need to do, but the reality of losing his wife and raising his boy alone hit him like a ton of bricks.

Through the long days that led up to her death, the late-night phone calls Burt had to make to family and friends, the funeral, the_ it'll-be-okay_s and _I'm-sorry-for-your-loss_es, staring down at the fresh mound of dirt, he held his son's small hand tight in his; he was his lifeline to the real world, the reminder that he had to keep on.

Burt tried to keep himself busy at work, keep his mind off the gaping hole in his heart, be a good dad for Kurt, simply be _there_ for Kurt, should he need him.

At night, he and Kurt would sit together on the sofa, talk about their days, but they never really said anything. Never mentioned her. The pain was too recent for both of them; there were still raw wounds that didn't need to be salted.

When life started to get back to normal - as normal as it would ever be again - Burt breathed a little easier. Mentioning Elizabeth was awkward but wasn't as hard as it had been those first few months. They would have their usual Friday Night Dinners, after which Kurt would sit at the kitchen table, chewing absent-mindedly on the end of his pencil, working out homework problems in his head. As soon as he was done, however, he'd disappear for the rest of the night. It took Burt days to realize that Kurt was spending nearly every evening holed up in their spare bedroom.

After a week of the odd behavior, Burt followed him down the hall, slowly pushing open the door. Kurt was lying prone on his back, hand trailing lightly over the angles and curves of a broken dresser, tracing the outline of faded flowers.

"What're you doing, son?"

Kurt didn't flinch, didn't take his eyes off the old wood. His only reply was a sad sigh.

"Kurt?" Burt tried again after a silent moment. He gingerly sat next to Kurt, lying down at the same angle, resting his arms behind his head. "What're we doin on the floor, bud?"

"It's stupid." Kurt said softly. "You'll think its stupid."

"Try me."

He took a deep breath. "Doesn't it- doesn't it smell like Mom in here?"

Burt was slightly taken aback. Whatever he was expecting, that certainly wasn't it.

"What?"

"Nothing," Kurt rolled onto his stomach burying his head in his arms. "I told you it's stupid."

"Hey hey, stop. C'mere," he pulled Kurt close to him, closing his eyes. "You know," he said into Kurt's hair, "when your mom and I bought this dresser we barely had a roof to put it under. It was the first thing we ever bought together. We saved for weeks just to have someplace to keep our second-hand clothes. She thought it was perfect, even with that broken drawer that never sat right on the rail. As long as there has been a Hummel family, there has been this dresser." He took a deep breath. "So no. I don't think its stupid."

Kurt sat up, looking into Burt's eyes. "It s just- it's been months since she left and we.. I dunno, we never talk about her. And I really miss her," he looked away, his voice cracking.

Burt wasn't sure if his heart could break any more. "I know," he said softly, looking up at his son. "Me too, but I don't- it still hurts, you know?"

Kurt nodded. "I guess I just... I smelled her perfume in here and I thought.. thought maybe she wasn't really gone." He buried his face in his hands.

Burt sat up, pulling Kurt's hands down, revealing the blush still evident on his face. He laid a heavy hand on Kurt's chest, over his heart, tapping lightly. "She isn't _really_ gone, Kurt. You're _our_ son, mine and hers, and you always will be. She's part of you."

"Really?"

"Of course," Burt pulled himself up and offered his hand down to Kurt.

"I think I'll stay here... just a few more minutes, okay Dad?"

Burt nodded, kissing Kurt lightly on his temple. Kurt laid back down and resumed running his fingers over the wood.

Leaving the door cracked behind him, Burt made his way to his room, rummaging through his nightstand, searched the shoe boxes littering his closet floor, finally finding his prize in the cedar hope chest at the end of his bed. When he got back to the spare room, Kurt was asleep on the floor, tear tracks on his cheeks. He pocketed the small bottle, and carefully carried Kurt back to his room. He tucked him in, and emptied his pocket. The small blue bottle was over half-full and Burt clicked the top. The spritz of perfume blanketed Kurt and he sighed contentedly in his sleep, breathing deeply. He set the bottle on the nightstand next to his son - _their_ son - and closed the door behind him.


End file.
